


Bound to the Trees

by eawen_penallion



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eawen_penallion/pseuds/eawen_penallion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For an LOTR Secret Santa. </p><p>Fic Request/plot :  </p><p>Nothing pretentious or flowery, just tell me a story. I like a self assured, warm, intelligent Erestor (no sweet, shy little advisor please) romantic, NOT sappy, established relationship. Try and include music, rain and hot soup :)  Affectionate through to erotic is fine, no fuckfest, please. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound to the Trees

It took a few moments for Erestor to realize that the elf he was looking for actually wasn't *there*.

Narrowing his dark eyes (unnecessarily, for elvish eyesight is almost as keen as that of an eagle), the counsellor searched the newly-arrived company once more. The scene was one of ordered mayhem with dismounted riders yielding their reins to Rivendell's remaining hostlers; capable stewards relieving the Lórien elves of their well-packed travel bundles of worldly possessions; and blond-haired carters removing the loaded wains to secure locations (for these wagons contained items that would not see light-of-day until they were unpacked under the blue sky of Valinor). Upon the porch of the Last Lonely House its twin lords, the last remaining scions of the royal and noble line of Elrond Eärendilion, greeted their equally noble maternal grandfather as he broke his journey to the Grey Havens. Erestor knew that this would not be a short sojourn - Celeborn of East Lórien intended to remain in Imladris for as long as it took to persuade his grandsons to embrace their Elvish heritage and to accompany him on the last voyage 'home'.

Erestor too had intended to make this final journey - but he had been determined to take ship at the side of his mate. Haldir, Marchwarden of Lórien, had promised him many centuries ago that they would complete their union with a binding ceremony once the Dark Lord had been defeated and peace had been restored to Middle Earth. This pledge had sustained them through many hardships - of war, of pain, of enforced yet necessary separation - and they had both (so Erestor had believed) longed for this long-deferred moment. Now the day had arrived - but Haldir had not.

His eyes raking once more over the now-dispersing elves, Erestor still did not see his lover amongst their dwindling numbers - but he *did* discern a surprising tension amongst the Sylvan elves, especially evident in the uncomfortable demeanor of his lover's brother. Realizing that he was being watched, Rúmil of East Lórien turned to meet the gaze of the counsellor - but he instantly broke the contact, dropping his own eyes when he saw who watched him. Yet even in that brief meeting of brown orbs to lake-blue, the dark advisor had seen both grief and apologies in his erstwhile law-brother's expressive orbs.

One of the traits most-often noticed about Lord Elrond's foremost counsellor was his ability to take on many tasks at once; Erestor could hold the essential details within his mind, discussing one problem even as he pondered on the potential solution to another. Thus it was that the talented Noldo drew the majority of his attention back to the Lord of Lórien and he greeted Celeborn of the Trees with all the honour due to him, bowing to the silver-haired Sindar even as he discretely herded his lords and their guest into the depths of the open-galleried house. There was not a moment's hesitation in the hushed yet confident directions that Erestor gave to the greatly-diminished staff of the demesne of Imladris, his soft voice warm with gentle appreciation of their efforts and conveying his thanks for their service. In his final request, though, the servant noted a rare hardening of tone that normally implied that the counselor's ire had been aroused. It was a tone that none dared to deny.

"Convey to Captain Rúmil my desire to speak with him in my office - now!"

With an estimable alacrity the servant hurried to do his bidding, already pitying the hapless Silvan elf who would have to face this edhel's wrath...

 

****

 

There was no preamble, no elegant greetings or attempts at social conformity, simply a softly-spoken question that belied any inner turmoil on behalf of the speaker.

"Where is he, Rúmil?"

The Galadhel shifted uneasily in front of the carved beechwood desk that separated him from his brother's lover. As much as he admired and loved Erestor for his steadfast devotion to Haldir, still he recognized the determined nature of the counsellor that had given rise to the many legends that characterized the Noldo as a cold and unemotional elf. Rúmil knew that the legends were in error - Erestor was in fact a very loving and generous edhel to those whom he trusted; his cool persona was a façade constructed to enable his work as a counsellor and negotiator for Lord Elrond. Still, Erestor was formidable once his temper was aroused. Rúmil swallowed, inwardly cursing his brother for placing him in this position.

"He - he remains in Lothlórien. He has given me this missive for you." Rúmil's fingers faltered at the ties of his jerkin, finally freeing them to withdraw a folded parchment. Offering it to Erestor, the Silvan elf muttered softly, "I am sorry."

Rúmil noticed a moment's hesitation upon Erestor's part before the Noldo took the note from Rúmil's hand. The Lórien warrior knew that the words contained within had the power to fracture the counselor's heart, yet he felt compelled to defend Haldir.

"Erestor, you know that my brother has never been like the rest of my family; how he came to be... the way he is," he stressed, hoping to divert Erestor from the potential pain. "His... affinity... with our home is such -"

A single raised hand was enough to stem the flow of words that gushed from the galadhel's mouth. Erestor move silently towards the arched window, turning his back to Rúmil before opening the parchment. The galadhel saw Erestor's shoulders stiffen as the note was read, but Rúmil could not tell what the elf was feeling as Erestor perused the scant words. He had not read them himself, being an honorable elf. Erestor straightened, dropping the hand that contained the note to his side. The expletive was softly - spoken, but heartfelt nonetheless, as the hand constricted swiftly and crushed the paper within.

"Orcshit!"

Rúmil watched as Erestor took a deep breath, releasing the tension in his frame as he exhaled. The counsellor turned towards him, a slight smile upon his face.

"Thank you for completing what I am sure was a most unwelcome task, Rúmil - but now I must take my leave of you."

Although it was redundant, Rúmil could not help but ask the question.

"Where do you go?"

The smile turned grim, and Erestor raised the fist that held the destroyed note.

"To Lothlórien - to knock some sense into your errant brother's head!"

 

****

 

It seemed to be as it always was - a verdant canopy of green, sheltering the jewel in nature's crown. Beams of late spring sunshine stuttered through the copious leaves of the Golden Wood, dappling the floor of the forest with pale gold pools of light. These leaves - of beech and birch, of sycamore and mallorn - contributed rainbow crystals of raindrops to the vibrant scene, remnants of the torrid shower that had just passed overhead. Birds sang, insects flitted from bud to bloom; a shy deer lingering behind a mesh of slender branches hesitated for a moment, its soft doe eyes making contact with the dark elvish gaze of the horse's rider, before self-preservation caused it to flee in a flurry of spindly limbs and a flick of a white tail.

Yet for all the evidence of life in the Golden Wood, the elvish realm of Lothlórien seemed dead to Erestor of Imladris.

So many names, so many millennia. Just as the Greenwood had become Mirkwood and then Eryn Lasgalen; so had Laurelindórenan become Lothlórien then East Lórien. Supposedly the same, yet so different. The changing names of Thranduil's kingdom had reflected the changing circumstances of its existence - from happy brightness, to dark and sinister invasion, to a rejuvenated freedom from the ravages of evil. There the changes had been overt and dramatic.

The changes to the Golden Wood had been of a more subtle form for Nenya had not only held evil influence at bay, but had also halted time within the wood - some could call it a stagnation. With the destruction of the One Ring, the power of Nenya had now faded and the inherent powers of the Lady of Light had not been enough to stave off the determined encroachment of the outside world.

Birdsong now proliferated where elvensong had once resonated; tangles of vines and sinuous weeds gently obliterated the quiet signs of elvish passage; startled deer sensed that the glamour of protection had disappeared. The elves were gone, for it was no longer their Age. Few there were who remained, Firstborn who clung to the only home they had ever known; Moriquendi, for whom Valinor was naught but a legendary land in the distant West, a place that had become frighteningly real to those who did not hold precious memories of its glory - who held no memories of it at all.

Erestor saw all this and nodded. It was as it should be - in a few centuries, when the feeble tales of Men had altered the legends of the Eldar to myths of sprites and fairies, these woods would be inhabited again. Those original occupants who lingered would fade, and their spirits would give spurious veracity to those myths. So be it, that fate was their choice - but he would be damned if his soulmate became one of their number without opposition. With a gentle click of encouragement, Erestor spurred his horse forward towards the heart of the wood where Caras Galadon lay - and the love of his heart.

 

****

 

Caras Galadon - the Heart of Elvendom on Earth. So Haldir had once proclaimed it, and so it had been - a glorious and elegant arboreal city, where nature and construction had become so entwined that it could scarcely be discerned where one started and the other ended. It was here that two elves of different realms, of different races within the Race of the Firstborn of Eru, had first met.

 

// The Lord of Lothlórien had glanced up from the sheaves of papers so recently set before him, nodding in satisfaction when he recognized the new arrival.

'Ah, Haldir - good. I wish you to meet Lord Erestor, who is assisting Lord Elrond in the new elf-haven of Imladris. He will be the first amongst Lord Elrond's council and, alongside the newly-returned of Lord Glorfindel, he will be instrumental in establishing the united defense of the Elvish realms against the rise of the Enemy."

Sparkling blue eyes had met the warm of rich brown, recognizing in their rich depths a kindred spirit.//

 

Erestor climbed the spiraling staircase to the abandoned audience chamber of the Lord and Lady, his preoccupied mind vaguely registering the encroachment of marauding vines; the steps were already crumbling as the tendrils undermined their structure. No matter - the elf tread as all those of his kind, lightly and lithely. The ascent was easy, yet the memories that flashed into his mind caused his heart to pound as violently as that of a human who had scaled the craggy heights of the Hithaeglir. With each step he heard a most beloved voice, resonant tones imprinting upon his soul.

 

// The two elves, dark and light, ascended the mallorn stair, the length of their strides in matching rhythm. They talked softly of inconsequential matters, each avoiding that which absorbed them both. As they walked their hands brushed together. Halting suddenly they turned to one another. Erestor smiled.

"We should not ignore this feeling, Haldir of Lórien."

He lifted his hand, deliberately touching the soft silky sands of Silvan hair. The galadhel tensed as the advisor leaned close to his ear, the breath of each word the darkling elf uttered initiating pleasing shivers through his sturdy frame.

"It seems that we have been set upon this path by a Power greater than either of us, my dearest Haldir. What say you that we explore this path together - wherever it may take us...?"

The galadhel's generous mouth had curved into a rich smile at these words, and the challenge was answered in kind.

Haldir deliberately turned those full lips to contact with the high-boned cheek of Erestor's face, so that it was Erestor's turn to react at the velvet touch.

"Lead, my Lord - I will follow." //

 

From audience chamber Erestor redirected his footsteps, making his way across the high bridges to a most-familiar dwelling place. The talan was empty now. It still bore signs of recent occupation for, unlike others that Erestor had passed, the structure was still sound and the lodging was clean and tidy. The Noldo felt a lump, a pressure rise in his throat but suppressed the threatening sob. Stepping inside the portal, he automatically glanced at the door that separated the inner sleeping chamber from the external living quarters. The door was ajar, the large bed visible inside. His feet brought him within, his heart racing as his memories engulfed him.

 

// Erestor groaned as each stroke into the heated channel brought him nearer to fulfillment, as his lover shifted beneath him in a desperate effort to increase the pressure of the intruding shaft upon his sweet gland.

"Erestor, meleth - please!" Haldir begged, his voice hoarse with need. As an answer Erestor pressed his palms flat on the mattress to each side of his lover's heaving chest, and reared up on sinewed arms. Thrusting hard into Haldir, he almost lifted the galadhel's lower body from the bed.

"Come for me, my love!" he cried as he felt the heated rush of his own climax build, sending tremors through his frame. With one mighty heave he expelled himself, pouring his seed and his love into Haldir as his beloved shouted in his own triumphant completion.

Dazed, enraptured, wrapped around and entwined within the Silvan elf's limbs, Erestor of Imladris floated on a haze of sanctified satisfaction and eternal love. //

 

"Lord Erestor?"

The counsellor turned, surprised to hear another voice in the seemingly deserted city. On the threshold of the talan stood an elleth whom Erestor recognized as one of Galadriel's former handmaidens. He smiled wryly.

"Aredhwen - I did not know that you had remained," he said softly. He surveyed the room, including in his sweeping glance the expanse of mellyrn that could be seen through the large windows. Few were the lights in the scattered dwellings. "I confess, I have never thought to inquire as to the numbers of edhil who chose to remain in this land."

Aredhwen nodded in understanding. "Our numbers are few and most of us have chosen to dwell as an enclave to the south, on the edge of the city."

Erestor hesitated a moment before asking, "And Haldir - is he...?"

The elleth shook her head. "He has chosen to make his dwelling near to the borders he used to patrol, near the Silverlode."

Erestor nodded. "I know the place - ever was it his refuge."

"Or his hiding place!" Aredhwen bit her lip, startled at her own vehemence. She hesitated, obviously seeking her words carefully as she explained herself. "My lord, those of us who remain have made this choice because of our love for our home, and because we have not the ties to Valinor that others have. I did not wed - there is no slain husband waiting to be released from the Halls of Mandos, nor children who took the Silver Road before me. I was born in the Golden Wood and I will abide here until the end of Aman, albeit as a nebulous spirit guarding the trees. Lord Haldir - he has few reasons to stay and many to go but... He says that he swore an oath to protect Lothlórien and its occupants and that he will not break his oath. He does not believe that we no longer have need of protection, with the Ring destroyed and the yrch much diminished in number."

Aredhwen stepped closer to Erestor and laid her hand upon his in an attempt to impress upon the Noldo the sincerity of her words.

"Haldir is not like us. Yes, he has many reasons to remain in the Golden Wood, the forest that birthed him - but despite this, he should be made to see that he has more reasons, and much more compelling ones, to take ship unto the West. My Lord, he will not listen to us, nor to his brothers - but he will listen to you. He must."

Erestor nodded and smiled in gratitude at the elleth.

"I will go now to your stubborn galadhel, and I will talk of you to him." He paused, looking urgently into her pale eyes. "I mean to travel to Aman and I do not intend to travel alone, Aredhwen."

"Then go, my lord - and may all my prayers go with you."

****

The inclement weather had returned during the long ride from the city to the borders and Erestor had been forced to pull the hood of his cloak so far forward over his face that he could scarce see the path ahead of him. His vision was further obscured by the density of the rain that fell in torrents from the blackened sky, a thick curtain of needle-sharp rods that stung against his skin even through the many layers of travel garments in which he had dressed himself that morning. Not for the first time in his long life did Erestor give thanks for his Elven constitution. The sodden clothing would only precipitate unpleasant discomfort rather than the more distressing disease or illness to which a human would be susceptible - pneumonia was one illness that had sprung to mind.

Although his vision was obscured there were other senses that he had had at his command, and one of which he had often most need was that of hearing. Even through the drumming beat of raindrops landing on the leaves and shrubbery of vegetation Erestor began to hear that which had been most obviously missing during his visit to the Heart of Lothlórien, the sound of music echoing through the treetops. Once Caras Galadon had constantly whispered of airs and sonnets, sung a capella or accompanied by the sweetest of instruments best designed to lay siege to the gentle emotions of the Lórien elves. Erestor knew the present melody well for it was one that flew from the talented fingers of his beloved, and the taut strings of his treasured lyre. By following the lilting tang of ably-plucked strings and the sweet tones of the accompanying voice Erestor was able to refine his path to bring him directly to his goal. Just as the rain eased so did the trees start to thin and the counsellor guided his horse onto the pebbled banks of the Celebrant.

The sound of hooves on the scattered stones must have penetrated the now-fine drizzle, for the music stopped abruptly. Erestor looked up the slope of green sward that framed the riverbank and immediately saw that which he had sought - the entrance to a small cave and the flickering flames of a campfire at the mouth of the cave, sheltered from the rain by a protective overhang. Standing by the fire was the figure of an elf, one that was dear to him. Dismounting, Erestor led his mare up the slope to the cave. He waved away the approaching edhel.

Erestor was in no humour to offer a polite greeting.

"Let me see to my horse first - then I will deal with you."

Haldir opened his mouth to protest, but immediately subsided. He obviously knew his lover well, and understood that boundaries had been crossed. Erestor truly cared for the comfort of his mare, but the galadhel also recognized that Erestor needed to keep a certain distance before he could attempt to address him. Many thought that Erestor lacked emotions; he did not. In fact, the Noldo suffered from a surfeit of emotions - he had engendered his cool demeanor so as to control them all the better.

Erestor gave his horse one final rub and whispered soft encouragement and instructions before turning her loose to graze under the shelter of surrounding trees. Raising his head he sniffed the air, detecting a pleasing aroma.

"If that is broth I smell, I am in sore need of sustenance," he said to his lover. "It has been a full day since I ate and that was travel bread."

Haldir smiled wryly. Erestor was merely postponing their discussion. Now was a time for comfort, not for confrontation. Stepping to one side of the campfire, the Marchwarden gestured for his melethron to enter the cave.

Erestor nodded, shrugging himself free of his sodden cloak and laying it to dry on some rocks near to the fire. Deliberately ignoring the other elf, he looked around the cave. There seemed to be little evidence that his lover intended to make it his own; there were no scattered possessions, no books laid aside to be read later, no piles of garments stored on the natural stone shelves that lined the walls of the small cavern. Erestor beheld only neatly-packed saddlebags, a bedroll and the few utensils that the Silvan elf had used to prepare the soup. The lyre was now resting upon the bags, its strings silent.

Understanding flashed into the counselor's mind and he looked at his mate, comprehension easing his fears. His eyes narrowed - despite his relief, Erestor could not resist the desire for a little retribution on his 'fickle' mate. Completing his perusal the counsellor finally squatted on the sandy floor, awaiting his promised repast.

Haldir straightened from where he had been crouching over the cook pot.

"Here - drink this. It will fill your chilled bones with nourishing warmth."

Erestor took the proffered bowl and spoon, nodding his silent gratitude. Lifting the spoon from the bowl he sipped its contents.

"Rúmil's recipe?"

"Yes."

"He was always the best cook of the three Lórien brothers."

Haldir grinned. "He was always the hungriest of us - he claims that his skill is merely a survival tool."

Erestor snorted. "And you of course spurned such indulgence!"

Haldir laughed and patted his stomach lightly. "The uniform of the Galadhrim is deceptive. I have never held an ounce on me above my fighting weight." His voice softened, and Erestor felt his heart twinge as he saw the plea for understanding in the rich blue eyes. "You, who have known me intimately, know my body. You know my mind."

"Do I?"

Haldir visibly winced at the gentle admonition. He waited for further remonstrance to fly forth but Erestor only bowed his head over his bowl, as if to savour the strong broth in contemplative silence. Finally the Marchwarden could stand it no more.

"Erestor!"

Erestor looked up from the now empty bowl.

"Did you come all this way to say nothing and eat soup?" Haldir asked. "Are you ever going to talk to me?"

With a sigh Erestor laid aside the bowl and spoon and folded his arms in his lap, settling into a cross-legged pose on the sand floor as easily and elegantly as if he were about to take a meeting in his council chambers. His face betrayed no inner turmoil, no festering grievance - nor did he reveal the deception he planned to play out. When he spoke he allowed no preamble, no moment of reflection. He was direct, his words an attack to the jugular.

"Do you truly intend to remain here, Haldir of Lórien? Are you foresworn?"

Haldir blanched in acknowledgement of the very valid question. Erestor knew that he had lain the consequence of his actions, of his letter of severance, before him. The Silvan elf licked his dry lips and wondered now how he could present his case before his intended mate.

"The trees called to me. They are in my heart and in my blood. For thousands of years I have protected them and once the time came, my feet were bound within their borders."

"With no thought for me?"

"Nay!" There was horror in his protest, denial in his voice. "It has just been - difficult - to say goodbye to the land that birthed me. As I said, I have protected this -"

"Stop!" Erestor held up a hand, halting the excuses. "So many people in so many ways have recently reminded me of your beginning - that you are 'a child of the Wood'. That as an infant you were found wandering amongst the mellyrn; you were taken in by Celeborn's captain and his wife and raised as their own. That you commune with the trees of this wood and that your fortune is bound to this land. Haldir of Lórien - the Son of Laurelindórenan. Also the beloved and betrothed of Erestor of Imladris - or am I wrong on that point?"

Haldir shook his head, eyes bright with excess moisture.

"No, you are not wrong. I love you, my dark lord. I love you."

"Yet you wrote me that note. You laid upon your foster brother the burden of delivering it, a heavy burden laced with sorrow and loss. How did you think I would react? Was I supposed to leave without protest?"

"No! Erestor, I was wrong! I cannot stay!" There was a frantic note to Haldir's denial. "I cannot stay - for inasmuch as Lórien is my mother yet I cannot, I will not be bound to her forever. My future is not here. You are my future and I will not lose you!"

Fearing that he had lost all, Haldir was surprised when Erestor simply smiled and nodded. The dark elf rose and approached Haldir, pulling him from the cave floor into his arms.

"I know, Haldir nín - I know," he comforted the now weeping elf, gently stroking his silken hair. "I knew almost from the moment I arrived that you had not forsaken me. You are not alone amongst the Elves of the Wood to feel such pain at leaving the mighty mellyrn; I should have expected that the call of the Woods for you is as powerful - if not more - than the call of the sea is for the Noldor. Lord Celeborn and your kin grieve too, hence the break in their exodus at Rivendell instead of a direct flight to the Havens. The sundering of kin from land is then as a gentle plucking of attaching threads instead of a violent rendering." Erestor pulled back from the embrace so as to look the Marchwarden directly in the eyes. "Do you think that Celeborn and Galadriel did not know and prepare for the Passing of the Elves from Middle Earth?"

"How?"

Erestor laughed for now he understood how little the rulers had confided in their subjects, even those who had served them most closely. His eyes darkened even as he realised the extent of the error of judgment on their part.

"Haldir, meleth nín - there is a wagon abiding in the shelter of Imladris that is filled with the loamy soil of Lórien. Within its moist protective coat there are hundreds of thick-shelled pods, seeds of the mighty mellyrn. Another wagon left many years ago in the cavalcade of the Lady of Lórien, to be taken aboard ship for Valinor. Similarly, each elf who has departed these forests and has taken the straight road has been presented with a smaller box, each with a single mallorn seed. Even Master Samwise received one although that tree was destined to sprout leaves in the Shire, not Aman."

Grasping his lover's chin, Erestor raised his face so that he could look into the deep blue eyes as he reassured him.

"Haldir, as many seeds as there are mallorn trees have been taken by the elves of Lothlórien to Valinor, and each person who carried one was charged with the task to see it planted and to nurture the resulting seedling. If, as I suspect, the Lórien elves have chosen to live close by each other then there is no doubt a veritable forest for them to dwell in by now. I assure you that the Valar, who as part of the choir of Ainur sang the world into being, would not neglect to have such a potent and beautiful part of their hymn re-grown in their own home."

Erestor cupped his hand and laid a palm against Haldir's cheek.

"You need not have feared that you were leaving part of yourself behind, meleth nín - it has already gone before you."

With a joyful cry Haldir pressed forward into Erestor's arms, his thankful lips meeting his lover's full on in a desperate clashing of mouth and teeth and tongue. In a frenzy of affirmation four hands tore at hindering clothing, stripping layers away until only bare flesh was revealed at the core, heated flesh that inflamed the passion that lay within the fleshy shells. There was no domination or submission but simply a union of two souls that had feared a parting that would have lasted to the end of the world.

Erestor hissed at the fevered assault upon his body and senses, reveling in the lips that plundered his mouth and then enclosed his member. A talented tongue licked and sucked upon his hard shaft, drawing forth moans from deep within - moans that only spurred on the Marchwarden. First one finger then two pressed against Erestor's entrance, searching digits that pressed and teased against the inner gland until he begged for sweet release. A seed-slickened shaft swiftly followed, eagerly burrowing into the hot velvet channel. Erestor welcomed the invasion, raising his hips to enable his betrothed to attain a greater depth. They rocked together, urging each other in their quest for a perfect union and a subsequently explosive completion. Ululating cries echoed in the cave, vocal expression of their satisfaction and deep love.

 

****

The two elves lay in each others arms, Erestor's now-dry cloak spread over them like a blanket as they watched the first rays of the dawn sun reflect upon the dancing waters of the River Celebrant. Haldir sighed in Erestor's enfolding arms, unwilling to break this happy quietude with questions from the unhappy circumstances which had led to this moment. Nevertheless, Erestor heard that sigh.

"What ails you, meleth nín?"

"Naught," Haldir replied. Erestor kissed the silver-gold strands of his beloved's head.

"There is something that troubles you, Haldir nín, and I would have you speak for it seems to me that too often we have held our tongues to the detriment of the truth and our hearts. Ask, my love and if I can, I will answer."

Haldir shifted in his arms, the better to judge Erestor's reaction to his query.

"Last night you said that you knew that I had planned to travel to Imladris, to reunite with you before our final journey. How? How could you know when I had no chance to tell you?"

Erestor smiled, kissing those questioning lips.

"You are by nature neat, in a soldierly fashion. You must have dwelled in this cave for weeks yet there was no sign of permanent habitation. Indeed, your bags are packed for a journey - you were prepared to leave this place for Rivendell, were you not?"

"Aye, this very dawn I would have called my horse to me from her ramble in the wood, for I wished to cross the Misty Mountains by midsummer. I wished to be with you as soon as I could. Once my initial panic at the thought of finally leaving Lórien had passed, I saw how wrong I had been. I had to be sure that you had not left Middle Earth without me."

Erestor shook his head. "I would not have - at no point have I contemplated living without you. In my own bags I carried here all that I needed to set up a home with you."

Haldir's eyes widened in amazement at this statement and he felt humbled by the strength of the devotion shown by his lover.

"I am not worthy of you," he muttered at last - yet he clung to his dark lord in his need, hiding his face against that firm breast.

Erestor tilted Haldir's face up again, kissing first his eyes in turn, then the tip of his prominent nose before recapturing the full lips.

"Let me be the judge of that," he murmured before he began to worship the warrior once more, reminding him once and for always just where his future lay.

 

Fin.

 

Elvish:

Edhel - elf  
galadhel - tree dweller/one of the guardians of the Golden Wood  
Elleth - female elf  
Yrch - orcs  
Mallorn/mellyrn - the giant trees of Lothlórien.  
Meleth nín - my love  
Melethron - male lover


End file.
